I Am Who I Am
by EFAW
Summary: All of his life, he’s lived in the shadows of another. Now, for once, he tries to step out of the shadows and make his own light. But Death, too, is dark and full of suffocating shadows… Oneshot.


This story has been revised and edited. All the misspelled words and punctuation stuff has been fixed.

Disclaimer: There are only two things in this story that I own. The plot, and the song that appears. Other than that, everything else is owned by Maki Murakami.

So please, read and enjoy!

**OOOO**

**I Am Who I Am**

A pale hand slowly ran along the edge of the marble countertop, slender fingers gently illuminated in the light of the full moon. The owner gazed absently out the window, slowly swaying back and forth, his mouth partly open. There was a glazed look in his eyes, like he was in another world. He wore nothing but a long, white shirt, the sleeves pulled up to his elbows, and a pair of boxers. The breeze coming in from the open window wound around his legs and arms, and he was already shivering, but he didn't notice. He fingers started to dance around the top of the counter, sliding and jumping, as though he was remembering some intricate ballet through his hands.

The rest of the kitchen was dark. Silverware and glasses, both dirty and clean, rested on the counter, catching the moonlight. Knives, forks and spoons were stacked in cups, while dirty plates and cups were precariously balanced in the sink. Something about this must have caught his eye, for he turned his head and stared at the sink before slowly getting up, knees bent like an old man, and he made his way over there.

He turned the water on, and lethargically started to clean the dishes in the sink, setting them on top of one another on the counter when they were washed. He barely noticed when a glass dropped, sending shards of glass into his bare feet. Or when another plate dropped, slicing up his legs. The pain came to him dimly, through a foggy haze that seemed to thrive around his mind.

When all of the dishes in the sink were finally clean, he staggered back to the seat he had formerly been in, resting his head on his arms, and setting his feet on the bottom rung of the barstool. His feet were still dripping blood onto the floor, leaving a shiny wet spot on the hardwood. But, like before, he didn't notice. A small part of his mind told him that he should clean them, get the glass shards out, but the rest of him didn't really care.

The clock in the sitting room chimed midnight after an hour and a half. He looked up, yawning, noticing for the first time his cut feet. He blinked groggily, then made his way to the bathroom, ignoring the light and heading straight for the bathtub. He filled it with relatively warm water, and when it was full, he stepped in, not even bothering to strip first. He held his nose, dunking his head under the reddening water, staying under until his lungs started to burn. Then he came up, gasping for air and shaking, tears running down his cheeks. He wrapped his arms around his knees, sobbing uncontrollably into them, as though they were the only comfort in the world.

And so he spent the night, sitting in a stale bath and crying.

XXXX 

Hiro gently strummed his guitar, tuning a little before strumming the same chord. K was over in the corner, polishing his gun, and Sakano was doing paperwork in the next room. There was a lot of crying and the sound of pill bottles being slammed down against the desk. Neither of the occupants in the room took any notice of this.

Hiro glanced out of the corner of his eye at the clock. It was already forty-five minutes past ten. Suguru and Shuichi were both late. Now, in Shuichi's case, this wasn't odd at all. For Shuichi, arriving early or on time would be a miracle. But Suguru…Suguru was a different matter. Suguru was _always_ early, most of the time arriving earlier than Hiro was, and he arrived pretty early. Hiro rotated his shoulders, feeling an itching there. He had the distinct feeling that something was wrong, but he didn't dwell on it. He just bent low down ever his guitar and tuned it more. They would come in soon. They always came in eventually.

XXXX 

The receptionist at NG Records smiled chipperly at Suguru as he walked by, murmuring a quick, "Good morning, Fujisaki-san," before he was gone, through the door of the stairwell.

Inside the stairwell, Suguru slowed, sitting on the second floor landing and slowly easing off his dark green slipper. It was the only type of footwear he owned that didn't require knots or zippers to stay on. He sighed and shook his head, pulling a roll of bandages out of the knapsack he had brought, unwinding the bandages around his feet that were spotted with blood and wrapping them in clean, fresh bandages.

He didn't really remember much of last night. It was all a blur. All he knew was that when he woke up this morning, he was curled up in bed, damp, a little feverish, with cut feet. He must have dropped something last night, too, because there was glass on the floor of the kitchen, but he didn't remember any of it. With a sigh, he tied off the bandages, put back on his slippers, and trudged up the stairs to the sixth floor.

He could hear Nittle Grasper rehearsing nearby, probably in one of the recording studios by the door. If he went out that door, he'd have to pass by them, and see the three members of the band…with a shudder, Suguru turned away from the door and made his way up the next two flights of stairs, to the door that opened up onto the roof. He took a deep breath before going over to the edge of the building and leaning on the rail, staring down at the traffic speeding by below.

There was really no point in going to work today. He wouldn't be able to work if he felt lower than dirt.

XXXX 

Shuichi bounced into the studio, happy and hyper as usual, a smile on his face. He was an hour and fifteen minutes late, but he knew that the others wouldn't mind. K would just threaten him, and Sakano would beg him on his knees to start recording, and Suguru and Hiro would both be in their own little worlds. So he wasn't really worried.

It wasn't until the silence hit him that he realized something was off. He quickly scanned the room, mentally ticking off the people in the room. Sakano, K, Hiro, empty keyboard, Shuichi…he did a double take, staring at the keyboard with his mouth hanging slightly open. His head tilted to the side as he tried to work out this complex puzzle.

He pointed at the keyboard. "Where's Suguru?" he asked, his brain starting to go out. It couldn't handle the thought of Suguru not being here when he arrived.

Hiro shrugged. "He hasn't come in yet." He started to polish his guitar.

Shuichi shook his head. "No way. He has to be here. He's always here. You aren't hiding him, are you?" He glared suspiciously at the three people in the room.

K shrugged. "He's not here. And there's really nowhere to hide anyone in here. Except maybe Ryuichi. That boy can get into the oddest places."

Hiro gently placed his guitar on its stand, standing up and stretching. "Since Suguru's not here yet, I'm going to go up on the roof for some air. Send someone to get me if he come in before I get back." He left, closing the door behind him.

Shuichi still glared suspiciously at K and Sakano. "Are you sure you're not hiding him in here?"

XXXX 

Suguru leaned over the rail, half-lidded eyes drinking in the sights, ears taking all the sounds and recording them. He started to hum a little tune, tapping the rhythm out on the rail. It wasn't long before he was quietly singing lyrics under his breath, his own lyrics, not Shuichi's or anyone else's.

"There's a foreign feeling

About my days

I'm in a strange and unknown world

The person with my friends

That sings and plays and quietly sees

There's just no way

That that can be me

But I know the truth

And I know the lies

And I know I speak the truth when I say

There's a stranger in my body

Living my life

Everyday I look in the mirror and I see

Someone I should know

He's wearing my face (my face, my face)

Someone that I just can't name

I go outside into the world

And without warning, suddenly

The stranger takes over everything

And just like that, in a snap

He's living my life for me

I'm living a lie

But nobody can see

It's a perfect mask that surrounds me

No one I know  
And no one I see

Has ever, ever seen the true me

And they never will

This is how it will be

Because

There's a stranger in my body

Living my life

Everyday I look in the mirror and I see

Someone I should know

He's wearing my face (my face, my face)

Someone that I just can't name

I go outside into the world

And without warning, suddenly

The stranger takes over everything

And just like that, in a snap

He's living my life for me

And I know

That he won't leave me alone

And I know

He's not gonna give life away

And I know

That nothing I say will ever change the fact

And I know

That he is me

He has always been me

There's a stranger in my body…"

XXXX 

Hiro paused at the door one to roof, listening. He could just barely hear the words being sung, could just barely make them it. It was a haunting tune, but at the same time, it was one that stuck into the brain. He cracked open the door, letting the words wash over him, hearing the pain behind the words.

He inched out onto the roof, silently, so as not to startle the singer. It was a shock to realize the lovely alto he heard was Suguru; the boy only sang as background, and he never sang a solo, so it was always hard to judge the true quality of his voice. But Hiro didn't make a sound, standing in the shadow of the stairwell and watching the green-haired synth player.

Maybe it was the way his hair glinted in the sunlight. Maybe it was they way that he seemed perfectly framed by the drab grey buildings that rose up around the record company. Maybe it was the song, and the quality of the song, as Suguru started to sing the chorus again. Maybe it was the serene smile that Suguru had on his face, as though he were in absolute heaven. Maybe it was just the frozen burrito he had eaten for breakfast. Whatever it was, something inside of him started to churn, not quite unpleasantly, but it made his face turn a deeper shade of color, and his heart started to beat inside his chest. He continued to watch Suguru, even when the last chord was sung, and the boy started to turn back to the stairwell. He saw Hiro in the shadows and froze, eyes wide.

After a tense minute, Suguru laughed nervously. "Ah, Hiro-kun. I didn't realize you were there. If I had known, I wouldn't have…I wouldn't have…" _Don't say it_, Hiro thought, _don't say you wouldn't have sung. That was one of the most beautiful things I've heard…don't say it…_

"-ah, I would have come down sooner." Suguru purposely avoided Hiro's eye, studying his dark brown slacks. Hiro only continued to watch him, only partly registering what Suguru was saying.

Suguru was obviously uncomfortable with the scrutiny, and it showed in his face. He winced as he hopped foot to foot, although that might have been because some of the cuts on his feet had broken open. He fiddled with the strap on his knapsack before backing into the stairwell. "Well, it's nice talking to you, Hiro-kun, but I really must be going. I'm, ah, I'm not going to go to work today. I hope you can tell K-san for me…I really don't want to face him right now. Thank you very much." He nodded, and backed down the stairs, taking them two at a time down the seven flights of stairs.

Hiro stared at the place Suguru had just been, a growing sense of dread forming. _When_, he wondered, _did I fall for Suguru?_

XXXX 

For a week, everything was pleasant. Suguru would pleasantly arrive early to work, pleasantly sit behind his keyboard, and pleasantly immerse himself in practicing new music, humming his parts softly under his breath. He would pleasantly avoid Hiro at all costs, even to the point of leaving the room if the two of them were the only occupants. And each day, Hiro's feelings for Suguru would miniscually grow larger. He tried to crush them, but that didn't work; after three days, he accepted them and went about work like always.

For one whole week, everything went fine. And then Ryuichi bounced in, late, with Shuichi, waving five tickets and Kumogorou in the air, yipping happily.

"Sakuma-san got us tickets to the show tonight!" Shuichi chirped happily to Hiro, bouncing up and down. Suguru, bent over his keyboard, paled, but nobody noticed. He accepted the ticket handed to him with a weak smile, slipping it into his pocket with a silent vow to try and get out of at any cost.

For the rest of the day, an excited air hung over the band. Shuichi was so excited he couldn't sing, and K called it quits several hours before he usually did.

Suguru slipped quietly out of the room while Shuichi started jabbering on about how excited he was. He heaved a sigh of relief, swinging his knapsack over his shoulder as he made his way down the stairs. His feet had finally healed, and it didn't hurt to walk anymore, something of which he was glad of. He made his way out of the building, hailing a cab to take him to his apartment.

XXXX 

Hiro frowned slightly as he watched Suguru get into the cab from the recording studio window. The keyboardist seemed down…more down than usual, at least. He nodded in all the right places as Shuichi went on, only half listening. The two of them left the building and separated, Shuichi going to tell Yuki the good news and offer him the ticket Sakano had kindly refused, Hiro hailing another cab. He knew where Suguru lived, and he wanted to check on the boy. He had a feeling that something bad was about to happen.

XXXX 

Suguru slid down the wall of his bedroom, staring at his shaking hands. "I can't do this again," he whispered. "I can't let him make me feel inferior. I just can't!" He pressed his fists into his eyes, seeing a panorama of colorful stars explode, most of them a turquoise color. "No," he whispered again, "I can't let him…"

He sat up, his eyes a little wild and bloodshot. He hadn't been sleeping well, not that anyone at work noticed. _Or cares_, and evil voice murmured cruelly in the back of his mind. _None of them care…_

Suguru, as though in a trance, got up, tears brimming in his eyes, and picked up the picture on his nightstand. He had had it for a long time. It had been taken at his eighth birthday party, one full of balloons and streamers and children who had been invited only because his parents had said to invite everyone in the class. His mother had taken the picture as Suguru had blown out the candles on his cake, Cousin Tohma standing over his shoulder, casting a small shadow over the cake. With sincere care, Suguru slipped the picture out of the frame, and, with even more care, ripped it into shreds. "I hate you," he murmured, "I love you, but I hate you." He watched the pieces of the picture flutter to the ground and, when they had all settled, stepped on them, grounding them into the carpet.

All of his life, he had lived in his cousin's shadow. All of his teachers had always said things like, "Oh, you're Tohma Seguchi's cousin, are you?" and, "Well, if you want to get better, why don't you ask your cousin to help you?" He had _lived_ with comments like that. Everyone in his family had always put Cousin Tohma on a marble pedestal, and little Suguru was always in the shadows.

Even when he had joined Bad Luck, as a favor to his cousin, and it finally seemed like he could best his cousin at one thing, could rise up on his own pedestal for once, even then, he was thrown off and sent tumbling back into the shadows of his cousin. Nittle Grasper just _had_ to reunite after three years of inactivity, all because some lowly high school band started to rise on its own pedestal.

Suguru went through his apartment, tearing every picture he could find that had Tohma in it. The pieces scattered on the ground, and, as Suguru opened the windows throughout the apartment, they fluttered on the breeze, dancing to invisible music, puppets without any strings.

He had never really been just Suguru Fujisaki. He was always 'Tohma's cousin,' or 'Bad Luck's keyboardist.' Everyone knew Tohma Seguchi's name. There was no one who didn't know of the great Tohma Seguchi. But no one knew the name of the keyboardist for Bad Luck, even if it was the second most popular in the country. Nobody cared enough about him to want to know his name. But he had never been able to form his own image of himself. He had no idea who he truly was, because he had never had a chance to find out. He never had an opportunity to step out of Tohma Seguchi's shadow and make his own. He was lost, traveling in an unknown world without a map to guide him, following behind someone who shone like the sun to millions around the world. And because of this, he had never had the self-confidence needed to actually _do_ anything of his own.

Suguru gently pressed his forehead to the last picture he could find, a magazine with Tohma on the cover. "I love you," he whispered to the picture, tears falling down his cheeks, "I love you, you're family, how could I not love you? But I hate you, I can't stand you. I hate you!" His voice rose into a shriek, and he threw the magazine across the room, the pages settling innocently on the article inside that talked about Tohma's success.

He staggered into the kitchen, great, heaving sobs shaking his shoulders. He knelt down and, with vision going blurry from his tears, he felt around on the floor in front of the sink. He hadn't stepped a foot in the kitchen for a week, and so he never had a chance to clean up the glass that had dropped. The pieces bit into the palms of his hands, shards large enough to draw blood, but too small to do what he needed them to. Finally, he found a piece of broken glass that was roughly the size of his hand, sharp as a razor on two of the three jagged edges. He held the glass up to his wrist with shaking hands.

He had never had the chance to make his own choices. Everything was decided for him, stressed onto him by Tohma. Tohma, Tohma, Tohma, that's all he had ever heard. Getting into music was because of Tohma, working himself sick to get the best grades in class was because of Tohma, everything was because of Tohma. But now, now he would make his own choice. He supposed he could say Tohma influenced this, too, but at least, here, holding the glass, he could say that this was his choice. The only choice he would ever make for himself. The last choice he would ever make for himself. With no hesitation, he started to sink the glass into his flesh, blurry eyes watching blood bead up.

And someone started knocking on the door.

XXXX 

Hiro knocked on the door, worry lining his face. He could just feel it, something bad was happening. What, he wasn't quite sure, but something bad happening. All he knew was that he had to get inside the apartment in front of him. He wanted to get in with Suguru's consent, but if he was unwilling, or unable, to let him in, then he could always get in with the key he "borrowed" from Sakano's desk. He just hoped what he found inside the apartment wouldn't be as bad as he seemed to think it would be.

XXXX 

_Oh, god, they're gonna stop me, whoever they are. I can't let them stop me! I have to do this!_ Suguru, shaking in his cage of depression, locked in with his insanity, pressed the glass into his wrist, pushing and pushing until the glass hit bone. He was screaming, but he couldn't hear himself. He didn't hear Hiro run in and immediately dial an ambulance. He couldn't hear the sirens wailing outside. He couldn't hear anything anymore, except his own scream resounding in his mind. The paramedics rushed in with a stretcher, and Hiro called K, who would call everyone else, but Suguru know none of this. He had already let blissful darkness envelop him.

XXXX 

Three hours later, Hiro, Shuichi, K, Tohma, Sakano, Mika, and Ryuichi sat in the waiting room of the hospital. The concert had been canceled, leaving hundreds of disappointed fans, but, for now, the members of Nittle Grasper really could care less. Mika tried to comfort Tohma, but he just pushed her away, wallowing in his own bundle of guilt. Eventually, she gave up, standing up and offering to get anyone else a drink. No one wanted anything, so she went off to get herself a cup of coffee.

Everyone was doing their own form of grieving. Shuichi and Ryuichi were clinging to each other, sobbing on one another's shoulders. Sakano was staring blankly into space, while K was polishing the chair arm so hard it was actually wearing down. He would have been polishing his gun, something he did whenever he was annoyed or worried, but he wasn't allowed to bring a gun into the hospital.

Tohma seemed to be the one most affected by Suguru's attempted suicide. The doctor's had come out a while ago to say that Suguru would be fine, but no one could go in until he woke up. Since then , Tohma had sat on his chair, bent over double so his forehead rested on his knees, though his feet were flat on the ground. He seemed smaller than usual, not as imposing or demanding. It was as though this whole event had deflated his ego's balloon, and now he was only wearing the rubber skin, which bound and clung to him.

Mika came back with a cup of coffee in her hand, but she just stood against the wall, sipping it quietly, watching them all. Hiro caught her eye, and she nodded. She knew how he felt about Suguru. How, he didn't know. Maybe it was showing through his eyes. But the point was, she knew, and she knew how hard this was for him.

Hiro looked down at his hands, seeing the hems of his sleeves stained red. Nothing he had done to staunch the blood had done anything to stop the flow; the cut was too deep for that. The only thing the blood had been able to do was stain his shirt sleeves and the knees of his black pants, where he had knelt in the ever-growing puddle of blood. He knew, for a fact, that he would throw away this set of clothes when he went home. Or maybe he would burn it. He just didn't want to remember this incident anymore.

Finally, after what seemed like another three or four hours, a doctor came out, pristine as ever in his white coat. He blinked owlishly at the group through thick, wire-rimmed glasses, and it would have seemed funny if the situation hadn't been so grave. He checked his clipboard, then started to speak. Tohma sat up to listen, his eyes red, his blond hair mussed.

"The good news is that Suguru Fujisaki has woken up," the doctor stated matter-of-factly. Shuichi and Ryuichi hugged each other, still crying, but a little happier. "But," the doctor continued, "he only wants to see one person. I'm afraid that, since it is the patient's request, we are obliged to grant it. Is there a Hiro Nakano in this group?"

Tohma sank back in his seat with a moan, hiding his face in his hands. Mika hurried over and started to console him, glancing at Hiro with the question the others had written on her face. _Why did Suguru choose Hiro?_

Hiro stood up, shocked, with a dazed look on his face. He followed the doctor into the room, and then was left alone with Suguru.

Suguru looked better than he had lying on his kitchen floor with blood pooling out of his body, but not by much. He was deathly pale, and his eyes were dull as they stared out the window. He was hooked up to three different IVs, one transferring blood to his body, and a heart monitor steadily beeped Suguru's heartbeat. He glanced over dully at Hiro, then looked back out the window.

Hiro nervously shifted his weight to his other foot, wondering what he was supposed to say. He was saved the trouble as Suguru started to speak.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing he said. Hiro said nothing, only watched the keyboardist. "I'm so, very sorry. I just wanted to make my own light for once. I didn't want to hurt anyone." He smiled sadly at Hiro. "But, you know, Death is a very dark place. I don't think my light would have shone there."

Hiro shook his head. "I just don't understand, Suguru. Why would you even think about trying to kill yourself?" He moved from the doorway to the end of the bed, sitting lightly on the mattress.

Suguru held one hand longingly towards the window, the bandages around his wrist making the whole thing seem even more real. "I just wanted to fly," he whispered. "I just wanted to make my own light. But I couldn't." He dropped the hand limply into his lap, looking down as tears began to slide down his cheeks. "I could never shine on my own. I always had to stand behind Tohma, and he always cast a shadow. I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" He brought his knees up to his chest, crying into them, as though they offered the only comfort he could find.

Hiro shook his head, gently pulling Suguru into an embrace. He stiffened, then relaxed and moved to sob quietly into Hiro's chest, clutching his shirt.

"It's alright," Hiro murmured consolingly. "It's not your fault. It'll be okay." He stroked Suguru's head, trying to calm him down, but the boy only shook his head.

"Yes, it's all my fault!" he wailed. "It's not going to be okay. I'm never going to shine on my own. I just can't do this anymore!"

Hiro continued to stroke the back of the keyboardist's head. "Of course you shine," he murmured. "It's just that your light is a little smaller, so you can't see it. Don't try to put out your light. There are people who don't even pay attention to your cousin's light, and only watch yours. They would, and already have been, hurt by this. Please, keep shining, for the people who would raise you above Tohma any day."

Suguru looked up, eyes shining with unshed tears. "Who would do that?" he cried. "I'm not good enough for anyone to do that. I'm just not good enough!" He looked down, his shoulders shaking, as his tears spilled over his cheeks. "Why would anyone do that for _me_?" he asked, in a voice that just needed an answer, or else it would crack apart.

Soothingly, with as much care as possible, Hiro brought his lips to Suguru's. Suguru stiffened, but Hiro made no move to deepen the kiss at all, and Suguru started to relax into it. Eventually, Hiro pulled away, looking at Suguru with sad eyes.

"I would. I've fallen for you, and I've fallen hard. Doing this was like being hit with a concrete brick: it _hurt_. But, Suguru, you shouldn't ever think your light doesn't shine. Like I said before, your light is the only one that I see. Tohma's light, which you seem to think is so great, I don't even see in the background. I think I love you." He gently ran his fingers down Suguru's jawbone with a light, caressing touch.

Suguru so wanted to believe Hiro, he really did. But fear was laced in his eyes alongside his hope. "I don't know," he whispered fearfully. "I don't know. How could you love me?"

Hiro's shoulders sagged. "I fell for you. I just don't want to see you hurt. If you truly think that suicide will take away all your pain, then next time, I won't try and stop you, even if it hurts me too. But I'm telling the truth. I really think I love you. This feeling that I have has grown way beyond a crush. I don't want to lose you, Suguru, but I will if it makes you happy. That's what love is." He stood up and glided to the doorway. He glanced one last time at Suguru, before slipping out of the room and into the hallway beyond.

Suguru watched the door close, tears one more brimming in his eyes and spilling over. "But," he whispered to the empty room, "how could you love me? I don't even know who I am…"

XXXX 

A month later, Suguru stepped out of the counselor's office, blank-faced and staring down at the floor. Tohma looked up from his magazine as Suguru walked past him, and got up, following the keyboardist out the door and into the car. The ride home was silent, the inside of the car full of tension.

As soon as Tohma pulled in front of the house, Suguru was out of the car, not so much running as walking faster than normal. He didn't even say hi to Mika, just breezed through the kitchen and up the stairs, slamming his door behind him. Mika frowned at the stairs, before setting another pot of tea to boil. Tohma came in, kissed her on the cheek, and nodded politely to Hiro, who was silently drink tea out of a thin porcelain cup. He nodded back.

Tohma sat with a sigh at the table, rubbing his temples. "I just don't know what's wrong," he said with another sigh. "He just won't talk to me."

Hiro blinked and said into his cup, "Of course he won't talk to you. You're the one who killed him. Metaphorically speaking, of course."

There was a shocked silence, then a strangled, "I _what_!"

Hiro nodded, still staring into his cup. "You're most of the reason why he tried to kill himself. Didn't you know?" He stood up, setting his cup lightly down on the table with a faint 'chink'. He nodded politely at Mika. "Thank you for the tea. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and have a word with Suguru." And he left, completely ignoring the horrified looks on both Mika and Tohma's face as they watched him.

XXXX 

Suguru lay eagle-spread on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It had been a month, and he _still_ wasn't allowed to live on his own. Sure, he still had a problem with his own self-esteem, and sure, he couldn't even look at Tohma without wanting to take the nearest knife and slice his own wrists up again, but that didn't mean he wasn't perfectly able to live on his own, right? Though he asked the questions, there was no one in the room who would or could answer them.

After a while, when his legs had gone numb from not moving, he got up and went over to the corner where his synth stood, his precious synth. It was the only thing he had specifically asked Tohma to get from his apartment, the last thing he had said to Tohma. He ran his hands over the smooth keys, warming up with simple chords, his left hand a little stiff.

He had cut through tendons and muscles, the doctors said. It would heal, but his hand would always be a little stiff, the doctors said. He wouldn't be able to do much with it for a while, the doctors said. Even if he tried to play, the music would never be the same, the doctors said.

Well, he would show them. He would play a haunting tune, one that was incredibly hard even with two perfectly fine hands. He would play the song of his own devising, the one he brought to life on the rooftop so many days ago. He would show them that he would always play. The music was him, and he was the music. He would prove them wrong.

He positioned his hands over the keys.

And he started to play.

XXXX 

Hiro stood outside the closed door, his hand raised to knock, letting the song wash over him in a flood of dazzling sound. He knew this song. It was the song that had been sung so very long ago, the song that had played when he knew he fell for Suguru. He mouthed the words as Suguru sang them in his light alto.

"_There's a stranger in my body_

_Living my life_

_Everyday I look in the mirror and I see_

_Someone I should know_

_He's wearing my face (my face, my face)_

_Someone that I just can't name_

_I go outside into the world_

_And without warning, suddenly_

_The stranger takes over everything_

_And just like that, in a snap_

_He's living my life for me…"_

Even Mika and Tohma were listening, captivated, on the landing. They had probably never heard him sing. They had probably never actually listened.

They stood like that for what seemed like hours, listening to he music, until the last chord died away, until the last golden note fell from the ivory keys and disappeared. There was silence for a moment, and then the door swung open in front of Hiro, and there stood Suguru, cradling his sore left hand to his chest.

They stood staring at each other tensely, the Suguru's eyes widened. He shut the door in Hiro's face, leaning back against it to prevent Hiro from coming in. _I don't want to face him_, he wailed in his mind, _I don't want to have to look him in the eye!_

Hiro glanced at Tohma and Mika, or the place where the two of them had been. They had already slunk into the kitchen. With a sigh, Hiro knocked on the door.

_I'm not going to answer, I'm not going to answer, I'm not going to answer_, Suguru chanted inside his mind. But of its own accord, his mouth opened, and he said, "Come in." Also of their own accord, his legs jerked him away from the door and over to the bed, where he sat, tensely waiting.

The door slowly eased open, and Hiro slipped in, shutting the door behind him. There was a silence that seemed deeper than silence, where neither of them looked the other in the eyes. And then they made eye contact.

And the world stopped.

Well, not technically _stopped_, persay. But in that one brief moment of contact, Suguru saw in Hiro's eyes how much he wanted to help, how much it hurt to not be let in. And Hiro saw through Suguru exactly what it was to be alone, always a shadow, someone in the background. And then they looked away, and the contact was broken, the moment shattered.

After another minute, Hiro said, "What was the song about?"

Suguru rubbed his wrist, trying to ease the stiff soreness. "What song?"

Hiro waved vaguely at the keyboard. "The song you sang. You sang it before and I didn't understand it either. But it's something that stays in the brain, and…it's kind of annoying, hearing the words and not knowing what the artist was talking about." He looked at Suguru. "So what is it about?"

The keyboardist looked down at his hand. "I…it's…I just don't know who I am. It's exactly as the lyrics say. 'There's a stranger in my body/Living my life.' Sometimes…sometimes I just feel like I'm never really being _me_. Like I will forever be known as 'Tohma's cousin' or 'Bad Luck's keyboardist.' Never just 'Suguru Fujisaki.' And…I just want to find myself. But I can't. Because I don't know who I'm looking for." He hunched his shoulders, wondering why in the world he had just said that.

Hiro shook his head. "I think you know who you are. But you're afraid. You're afraid that if you be yourself, then society will frown on you." He came over and gently placed an arm around Suguru's shoulders, comforting him in the smallest way possible. "But you can't live like that. You have to be yourself sometimes. Like when you sang on the roof that day. And when you held that glass over your wrist. You were being you then, not someone everyone else wanted you to be. And that's all there is to it. You just need to be yourself, a little bit at first, then a little more, until you _are_ you, and no one can say your not. And then, people will accept you, because there's nothing about you that they can point at and scorn, there's nothing they can say your lying about. Because everything that you will be will be true to yourself."

Suguru looked up at him. "Really? That's all?"

Hiro nodded. "Really."

Suguru looked back down at his hands, his shaking hands. Then he looked up at Hiro. And in slow motion, he watched through another's eyes, he watched himself through a camera lense, snapping pictures, a slide show that showed a whole story of events.

_Click._

He reached out for Hiro's face.

_Click._

He wrapped one hand around the base of Hiro's neck.

_Click._

He wrapped the other around the back of Hiro's head.

_Click._

He saw the surprise on Hiro's face, and ignored it.

_Click._

He drew the guitarist closer.

_Click._

He closed his eyes.

_Click._

He kissed him.

_Click._

And Hiro kissed back.

_End show._

XXXX 

Tohma looked up as Hiro came back down the stairs, one hand behind his back. He stood there, looking at Tohma with calm eyes, eyes that told no secrets. And then he stepped to the side.

Suguru stood there, smiling a smile that was a little crazed, but perfectly normal at the same time. He looked at Tohma, and the smile faded a little. But then it came back, and Suguru floated over to the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Tohma's shoulders. "I love you," he whispered, "I love you as only a cousin can love one another. And I don't blame you anymore. You can't help casting shadows, with all the spotlights shining on you. It's perfectly natural. Nothing exists that doesn't have a shadow." He smiled that disjointed smile again, and then floated back up the stairs. There was the faint sound of a door shutting softly, and then the haunting chords of a rooftop song.

Tohma looked at Hiro with a newfound sense of respect. "What did you say to him? He seems so much more…I don't know, happier."

Hiro shrugged, a minuscule movement. "I just gave him what he wanted."

"And what was that?" Mika stood with her hip on the doorframe watching them carefully.

Hiro smiled softly. "I just gave him someone who loved him as he was."

XXXX 

And up in a bedroom, where musical chords rang out in a magical melody, he wrote on the walls in dark blue marker.

_I am who I am._

OOOO 

Okay, I think parts of this are kind of pointless, but in the end, it all works out. I know most of the characters I used were probably OOC, but hey, this is my story, and I can do what I want to them. It works. :shrug: So please review and tell me what you thought of this all.

Arigatou!


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